CHAPTER XVI

ANOTHER CHANGE OF NAME

Turan dashed himself against the door of his prison in a vain effort to

break through the solid skeel to the side of Tara whom he knew to be in

grave danger, but the heavy panels held and he succeeded only in

bruising his shoulders and his arms. At last he desisted and set about

searching his prison for some other means of escape. He found no other

opening in the stone walls, but his search revealed a heterogeneous

collection of odds and ends of arms and apparel, of harness and

ornaments and insignia, and sleeping silks and furs in great

quantities. There were swords and spears and several large, two-bladed

battle-axes, the heads of which bore a striking resemblance to the

propellor of a small flier. Seizing one of these he attacked the door

once more with great fury. He expected to hear something from I-Gos at

this ruthless destruction, but no sound came to him from beyond the

door, which was, he thought, too thick for the human voice to

penetrate; but he would have wagered much that I-Gos heard him. Bits of

the hard wood splintered at each impact of the heavy axe, but it was

slow work and heavy. Presently he was compelled to rest, and so it went

for what seemed hours--working almost to the verge of exhaustion and

then resting for a few minutes; but ever the hole grew larger though he

could see nothing of the interior of the room beyond because of the

hanging that I-Gos had drawn across it after he had locked Turan within.

At last, however, the panthan had hewn an opening through which his

body could pass, and seizing a long-sword that he had brought close to

the door for the purpose he crawled through into the next room.

Flinging aside the arras he stood ready, sword in hand, to fight his

way to the side of Tara of Helium--but she was not there. In the center

of the room lay I-Gos, dead upon the floor; but Tara of Helium was

nowhere to be seen.

Turan was nonplussed. It must have been her hand that had struck down

the old man, yet she had made no effort to release Turan from his

prison. And then he thought of those last words of hers: "I do not want

your love! I hate you," and the truth dawned upon him--she had seized

upon this first opportunity to escape him. With downcast heart Turan

turned away. What should he do? There could be but one answer. While he

lived and she lived he must still leave no stone unturned to effect her

escape and safe return to the land of her people. But how? How was he

even to find his way from this labyrinth? How was he to find her again?

He walked to the nearest doorway. It chanced to be that which led into

the room containing the mounted dead, awaiting transportation to

balcony or grim room or whatever place was to receive them. His eyes

travelled to the great, painted warrior on the thoat and as they ran

over the splendid trappings and the serviceable arms a new light came

into the pain-dulled eyes of the panthan. With a quick step he crossed

to the side of the dead warrior and dragged him from his mount. With

equal celerity he stripped him of his harness and his arms, and tearing

off his own, donned the regalia of the dead man. Then he hastened back

to the room in which he had been trapped, for there he had seen that

which he needed to make his disguise complete. In a cabinet he found

them--pots of paint that the old taxidermist had used to place the

war-paint in its wide bands across the cold faces of dead warriors.

A few moments later Gahan of Gathol emerged from the room a warrior of

Manator in every detail of harness, equipment, and ornamentation. He

had removed from the leather of the dead man the insignia of his house

and rank so that he might pass, with the least danger of arousing

suspicion, as a common warrior.

To search for Tara of Helium in the vast, dim labyrinth of the pits of

O-Tar seemed to the Gatholian a hopeless quest, foredoomed to failure.

It would be wiser to seek the streets of Manator where he might hope to

learn first if she had been recaptured and, if not, then he could

return to the pits and pursue the hunt for her. To find egress from the

maze he must perforce travel a considerable distance through the

winding corridors and chambers, since he had no idea as to the location

or direction of any exit. In fact, he could not have retraced his steps

a hundred yards toward the point at which he and Tara had entered the

gloomy caverns, and so he set out in the hope that he might find by

accident either Tara of Helium or a way to the street level above.

For a time he passed room after room filled with the cunningly

preserved dead of Manator, many of which were piled in tiers after the

manner that firewood is corded, and as he moved through corridor and

chamber he noticed hieroglyphics painted upon the walls above every

opening and at each fork or crossing of corridors, until by observation

he reached the conclusion that these indicated the designations of

passageways, so that one who understood them might travel quickly and

surely through the pits; but Turan did not understand them. Even could

he have read the language of Manator they might not materially have

aided one unfamiliar with the city; but he could not read them at all

since, though there is but one spoken language upon Barsoom, there are

as many different written languages as there are nations. One thing,

however, soon became apparent to him--the hieroglyphic of a corridor

remained the same until the corridor ended.

It was not long before Turan realized from the distance that he had

traveled that the pits were part of a vast system undermining,

possibly, the entire city. At least he was convinced that he had passed

beyond the precincts of the palace. The corridors and chambers varied

in appearance and architecture from time to time. All were lighted,

though usually quite dimly, with radium bulbs. For a long time he saw

no signs of life other than an occasional ulsio, then quite suddenly he

came face to face with a warrior at one of the numerous crossings. The

fellow looked at him, nodded, and passed on. Turan breathed a sigh of

relief as he realized that his disguise was effective, but he was

caught in the middle of it by a hail from the warrior who had stopped

and turned toward him. The panthan was glad that a sword hung at his

side, and glad too that they were buried in the dim recesses of the

pits and that there would be but a single antagonist, for time was

precious.

"Heard you any word of the other?" called the warrior to him.

"No," replied Turan, who had not the faintest idea to whom or what the

fellow referred.

"He cannot escape," continued the warrior. "The woman ran directly into

our arms, but she swore that she knew not where her companion might be

found."

"They took her back to O-Tar?" asked Turan, for now he knew whom the

other meant, and he would know more.

"They took her back to The Towers of Jetan," replied the warrior.

"Tomorrow the games commence and doubtless she will be played for,

though I doubt if any wants her, beautiful as she is. She fears not

even O-Tar. By Cluros! but she would make a hard slave to subdue--a

regular she-banth she is. Not for me," and he continued on his way

shaking his head.

Turan hurried on searching for an avenue that led to the level of the

streets above when suddenly he came to the open doorway of a small

chamber in which sat a man who was chained to the wall. Turan voiced a

low exclamation of surprise and pleasure as he recognized that the man

was A-Kor, and that he had stumbled by accident upon the very cell in

which he had been imprisoned. A-Kor looked at him questioningly. It was

evident that he did not recognize his fellow prisoner. Turan crossed to

the table and leaning close to the other whispered to him.

"I am Turan the panthan," he said, "who was chained beside you."

A-Kor looked at him closely. "Your own mother would never know you!" he

said; "but tell me, what has transpired since they took you away?"

Turan recounted his experiences in the throne room of O-Tar and in the

pits beneath, "and now," he continued, "I must find these Towers of

Jetan and see what may be done toward liberating the Princess of

Helium."

A-Kor shook his head. "Long was I dwar of the Towers," he said, "and I

can say to you, stranger, that you might as well attempt to reduce

Manator, single handed, as to rescue a prisoner from The Towers of

Jetan."

"But I must," replied Turan.

"Are you better than a good swordsman?" asked A-Kor presently.

"I am accounted so," replied Turan.

"Then there is a way--sst!" he was suddenly silent and pointing toward

the base of the wall at the end of the room.

Turan looked in the direction the other's forefinger indicated, to see

projecting from the mouth of an ulsio's burrow two large chelae and a

pair of protruding eyes.

"Ghek!" he cried and immediately the hideous kaldane crawled out upon

the floor and approached the table. A-Kor drew back with a half-stifled

ejaculation of repulsion. "Do not fear," Turan reassured him. "It is my

friend--he whom I told you held O-Tar while Tara and I escaped."

Ghek climbed to the table top and squatted between the two warriors.

"You are safe in assuming," he said addressing A-Kor, "that Turan the

panthan has no master in all Manator where the art of sword-play is

concerned. I overheard your conversation--go on."

"You are his friend," continued A-Kor, "and so I may explain safely in

your presence the only plan I know whereby he may hope to rescue the

Princess of Helium. She is to be the stake of one of the games and it

is O-Tar's desire that she be won by slaves and common warriors, since

she repulsed him. Thus would he punish her. Not a single man, but all

who survive upon the winning side are to possess her. With money,

however, one may buy off the others before the game. That you could do,

and if your side won and you survived she would become your slave."

"But how may a stranger and a hunted fugitive accomplish this?" asked

Turan.

"No one will recognize you. You will go tomorrow to the keeper of the

Towers and enlist in that game for which the girl is to be the stake,

telling the keeper that you are from Manataj, the farthest city of

Manator. If he questions you, you may say that you saw her when she was

brought into the city after her capture. If you win her, you will find

thoats stabled at my palace and you will carry from me a token that

will place all that is mine at your disposal."

"But how can I buy off the others in the game without money?" asked

Turan. "I have none--not even of my own country."

A-Kor opened his pocket-pouch and drew forth a packet of Manatorian

money.

"Here is sufficient to buy them off twice over," he said, handing a

portion of it to Turan.

"But why do you do this for a stranger?" asked the panthan.

"My mother was a captive princess here," replied A-Kor. "I but do for

the Princess of Helium what my mother would have me do."

"Under the circumstances, then, Manatorian," replied Turan, "I cannot

but accept your generosity on behalf of Tara of Helium and live in hope

that some day I may do for you something in return."

"Now you must be gone," advised A-Kor. "At any minute a guard may come

and discover you here. Go directly to the Avenue of Gates, which

circles the city just within the outer wall. There you will find many

places devoted to the lodging of strangers. You will know them by the

thoat's head carved above the doors. Say that you are here from Manataj

to witness the games. Take the name of U-Kal--it will arouse no

suspicion, nor will you if you can avoid conversation. Early in the

morning seek the keeper of The Towers of Jetan. May the strength and

fortune of all your ancestors be with you!"

Bidding good-bye to Ghek and A-Kor, the panthan, following directions

given him by A-Kor, set out to find his way to the Avenue of Gates, nor

had he any great difficulty. On the way he met several warriors, but

beyond a nod they gave him no heed. With ease he found a lodging place

where there were many strangers from other cities of Manator. As he had

had no sleep since the previous night he threw himself among the silks

and furs of his couch to gain the rest which he must have, was he to

give the best possible account of himself in the service of Tara of

Helium the following day.

It was already morning when he awoke, and rising he paid for his

lodgings, sought a place to eat, and a short time later was on his way

toward The Towers of Jetan, which he had no difficulty in finding owing

to the great crowds that were winding along the avenues toward the

games. The new keeper of The Towers who had succeeded E-Med was too

busy to scrutinize entries closely, for in addition to the many

volunteer players there were scores of slaves and prisoners being

forced into the games by their owners or the government. The name of

each must be recorded as well as the position he was to play and the

game or games in which he was to be entered, and then there were the

substitutes for each that was entered in more than a single game--one

for each additional game that an individual was entered for, that no

succeeding game might be delayed by the death or disablement of a

player.

"Your name?" asked a clerk as Turan presented himself.

"U-Kal," replied the panthan.

"Your city?"

"Manataj."

The keeper, who was standing beside the clerk, looked at Turan. "You

have come a great way to play at jetan," he said. "It is seldom that

the men of Manataj attend other than the decennial games. Tell me of

O-Zar! Will he attend next year? Ah, but he was a noble fighter. If you

be half the swordsman, U-Kal, the fame of Manataj will increase this

day. But tell me, what of O-Zar?"

"He is well," replied Turan, glibly, "and he sent greetings to his

friends in Manator."

"Good!" exclaimed the keeper, "and now in what game would you enter?"

"I would play for the Heliumetic princess, Tara," replied Turan.

"But man, she is to be the stake of a game for slaves and criminals,"

cried the keeper. "You would not volunteer for such a game!"

"But I would," replied Turan. "I saw her when she was brought into the

city and even then I vowed to possess her."

"But you will have to share her with the survivors even if your color

wins," objected the other.

"They may be brought to reason," insisted Turan.

"And you will chance incurring the wrath of O-Tar, who has no love for

this savage barbarian," explained the keeper.

"And I win her O-Tar will be rid of her," said Turan.

The keeper of The Towers of Jetan shook his head. "You are rash," he

said. "I would that I might dissuade the friend of my friend O-Zar from

such madness."

"Would you favor the friend of O-Zar?" asked Turan.

"Gladly!" exclaimed the other. "What may I do for him?"

"Make me chief of the Black and give me for my pieces all slaves from

Gathol, for I understand that those be excellent warriors," replied the

panthan.

"It is a strange request," said the keeper, "but for my friend O-Zar I

would do even more, though of course--" he hesitated--"it is customary

for one who would be chief to make some slight payment."

"Certainly," Turan hastened to assure him; "I had not forgotten that. I

was about to ask you what the customary amount is."

"For the friend of my friend it shall be nominal," replied the keeper,

naming a figure that Gahan, accustomed to the high price of wealthy

Gathol, thought ridiculously low.

"Tell me," he said, handing the money to the keeper, "when the game for

the Heliumite is to be played."

"It is the second in order of the day's games; and now if you will come

with me you may select your pieces."

Turan followed the keeper to a large court which lay between the towers

and the jetan field, where hundreds of warriors were assembled. Already

chiefs for the games of the day were selecting their pieces and

assigning them to positions, though for the principal games these

matters had been arranged for weeks before. The keeper led Turan to a

part of the courtyard where the majority of the slaves were assembled.

"Take your choice of those not assigned," said the keeper, "and when

you have your quota conduct them to the field. Your place will be

assigned you by an officer there, and there you will remain with your

pieces until the second game is called. I wish you luck, U-Kal, though

from what I have heard you will be more lucky to lose than to win the

slave from Helium."

After the fellow had departed Turan approached the slaves. "I seek the

best swordsmen for the second game," he announced. "Men from Gathol I

wish, for I have heard that these be noble fighters."

A slave rose and approached him. "It is all the same in which game we

die," he said. "I would fight for you as a panthan in the second game."

Another came. "I am not from Gathol," he said. "I am from Helium, and I

would fight for the honor of a princess of Helium."

"Good!" exclaimed Turan. "Art a swordsman of repute in Helium?"

"I was a dwar under the great Warlord, and I have fought at his side in

a score of battles from The Golden Cliffs to The Carrion Caves. My name

is Val Dor. Who knows Helium, knows my prowess."

The name was well known to Gahan, who had heard the man spoken of on

his last visit to Helium, and his mysterious disappearance discussed as

well as his renown as a fighter.

"How could I know aught of Helium?" asked Turan; "but if you be such a

fighter as you say no position could suit you better than that of

Flier. What say you?"

The man's eyes denoted sudden surprise. He looked keenly at Turan, his

eyes running quickly over the other's harness. Then he stepped quite

close so that his words might not be overheard.

"Methinks you may know more of Helium than of Manator," he whispered.

"What mean you, fellow?" demanded Turan, seeking to cudgel his brains

for the source of this man's knowledge, guess, or inspiration.

"I mean," replied Val Dor, "that you are not of Manator and that if you

wish to hide the fact it is well that you speak not to a Manatorian as

you did just speak to me of--Fliers! There be no Fliers in Manator and

no piece in their game of Jetan bearing that name. Instead they call

him who stands next to the Chief or Princess, Odwar. The piece has the

same moves and power that the Flier has in the game as played outside

Manator. Remember this then and remember, too, that if you have a

secret it be safe in the keeping of Val Dor of Helium."

Turan made no reply but turned to the task of selecting the remainder

of his pieces. Val Dor, the Heliumite, and Floran, the volunteer from

Gathol, were of great assistance to him, since one or the other of them

knew most of the slaves from whom his selection was to be made. The

pieces all chosen, Turan led them to the place beside the playing field

where they were to wait their turn, and here he passed the word around

that they were to fight for more than the stake he offered for the

princess should they win. This stake they accepted, so that Turan was

sure of possessing Tara if his side was victorious, but he knew that

these men would fight even more valorously for chivalry than for money,

nor was it difficult to enlist the interest even of the Gatholians in

the service of the princess. And now he held out the possibility of a

still further reward.

"I cannot promise you," he explained, "but I may say I have heard that

this day which makes it possible that should we win this game we may

even win your freedom!"

They leaped to their feet and crowded around him with many questions.

"It may not be spoken of aloud," he said; "but Floran and Val Dor know

and they assure me that you may all be trusted. Listen! What I would

tell you places my life in your hands, but you must know that every man

will realize that he is fighting today the greatest battle of his

life--for the honor and the freedom of Barsoom's most wondrous princess

and for his own freedom as well--for the chance to return each to his

own country and to the woman who awaits him there.

"First, then, is my secret. I am not of Manator. Like yourselves I am a

slave, though for the moment disguised as a Manatorian from Manataj. My

country and my identity must remain undisclosed for reasons that have

no bearing upon our game today. I, then, am one of you. I fight for the

same things that you will fight for.

"And now for that which I have but just learned. U-Thor, the great jed

of Manatos, quarreled with O-Tar in the palace the day before yesterday

and their warriors set upon one another. U-Thor was driven as far as

The Gate of Enemies, where he now lies encamped. At any moment the

fight may be renewed; but it is thought that U-Thor has sent to Manatos

for reinforcements. Now, men of Gathol, here is the thing that

interests you. U-Thor has recently taken to wife the Princess Haja of

Gathol, who was slave to O-Tar and whose son, A-Kor, was dwar of The

Towers of Jetan. Haja's heart is filled with loyalty for Gathol and

compassion for her sons who are here enslaved, and this latter

sentiment she has to some extent transmitted to U-Thor. Aid me,

therefore, in freeing the Princess Tara of Helium and I believe that I

can aid you and her and myself to escape the city. Bend close your

ears, slaves of O-Tar, that no cruel enemy may hear my words," and

Gahan of Gathol whispered in low tones the daring plan he had

conceived. "And now," he demanded, when he had finished, "let him who

does not dare speak now." None replied. "Is there none?"

"And it would not betray you should I cast my sword at thy feet, it had

been done ere this," said one in low tones pregnant with suppressed

feeling.

"And I!" "And I!" "And I!" chorused the others in vibrant whispers.